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Authors: Ernest Hill

It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (19 page)

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“Guess I'd better take her in.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“She probably got a dead cell.”

“Yes, sir,” I said again.

He took another drink from the bottle and placed it back on top of the hood. Then he removed the wrench and began disconnecting the cable.

“Would like to know if it's alright with you,” I said.

I waited. He didn't say anything. Then I heard him curse.

“Goddamn bolt,” he said.

He eased from beneath the hood and looked about.

“Hand me that Crescent wrench,” he said.

I handed him the wrench and he ducked back beneath the hood. I heard him grunt and I saw the bolt give. Then I heard the wrench strike the metal frame, and when it did, I heard him curse again. I believed he hit his hand. I waited a moment, then I spoke again.

“Well, sir?” I said.

“Well, what?” he asked me.

“Is it alright with you?” I asked.

“Is what alright with me?”

“Me marrying your daughter?”

“Well that's between you and her,” he said. Then I saw him looking at the battery again.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I understand that. And as I said earlier she has already said yes. But I guess I would just like to know what you think.”

“Well it's fine with me,” he said. “She grown.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I paused and waited for him to say more but he didn't and I could tell he was still thinking about the battery.

“And I also want you to know that I plan to do right by her,” I said.

“Well, I suspect she gon' see to that,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I suspect she will.”

He removed the cable and lifted the battery from the car, then set it on the frame, and when he was satisfied that it was stable, he looked at me again.

“Y'all done set the day?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thursday.”

“Well, we ain't got much money,” he said. “Don't reckon we'll be able to help much with no wedding.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and when I did, I saw his body wobble a bit and he quickly leaned against the truck for support, and I sensed the alcohol was making him drunk. “We'll probably just go before the justice of the peace.”

“Well, that's probably best,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You say Thursday, hunh?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Up at the courthouse?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“What time?”

“We don't know yet,” I said.

“Well, y'all just let me know,” he said. “And I'll see if I can take off work.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “We will.”

Chapter Twenty-four

I
followed Mr. Jones back into the house. When we got there, Omenita had changed clothes and was sitting on the sofa reading a magazine, and Miss Jones was standing next to the recliner combing her hair. Her purse was on the floor next to her and her coat was draped across the back of the chair. From the looks of things she was on her way out. They both looked up when we entered the room. Miss Jones spoke first.

“Made it back, hunh,” she said to me.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

I closed the door, then I joined Omenita on the sofa. Mr. Jones, visibly tipsy from the liquor, continued, and I watched him stagger across the floor and stop just before his wife. From where I sat, I could not see his face because his back was to us, but I could see his large, powerful hand gripping the back of the recliner as he braced himself steady. I saw him look at the coat and then at her.

“You going somewhere?” he asked.

“To get my hair done,” she said. “Why?”

“I need some money,” he said.

Instantly, I heard Omenita sigh, then I saw her wave her hands at her mother and when her mother looked at her, I saw Omenita shake her head no. Her mother looked at her then back at her husband.

“For what?” she asked.

“Battery shot,” he said. “Got to buy a new one.”

“And how much is that gon' cost?”

Mr. Jones hesitated before answering.

“Ought to be able to get one pretty cheap at Wal-Mart,” he finally said.

“What you call cheap?” she asked.

He paused again. “Oh, forty or fifty dollars.” Miss Jones looked at Omenita trying to figure an answer, but before she could Mr. Jones spoke again. “Goddammit, Sue!” he said. “You gon' have to hurry up. My ride be here any minute.”

“Alright,” she said. “Let me look in my purse. I don't even know if I got fifty dollars.”

I heard Omenita sigh again. “What ride?” she asked. “Who gon' take you?”

I saw Mr. Jones look at her. He seemed unsteady.

“Byrd,” he said.

“Byrd!” Omenita said.

“That's right,” he said. “Byrd.”

“You ain't got no business riding around with that wine head,” she said.

“How else I'm gon' get there?” he asked.

“I'll go get the battery,” Omenita said.

“Naw,” her father said. “You got company.”

“He can come with me.”

I saw her daddy sway then brace himself against the wall. “Ain't no need in that,” he said.

“I don't mind,” she said.

“Ain't no need,” he said again.

“You just want to go across the river,” Omenita said. “That's all.”

“And what if I do?” he said. “What's it to you?”

“Can't you go one weekend without getting drunk?”

“Omenita!” I heard Miss Jones say.

“Omenita, nothing,” she said. “Look at him, Mama. He can't hardly stand up as it is.” Omenita rose and extended her hand toward her mother. “Give me the money,” she said. “I'll go.”

“Sit down!” her father said. “And mind yourself.”

“Don't tell me to sit down,” she said. “I'm grown.”

“Omenita!” Miss Jones called to her again. “Don't speak to your father like that. What's done got into you?”

“Mama, please,” Omenita said. “I'm begging you. Please don't give him any money. Please,” she said. Suddenly her voice began to shake.

“Omenita,” Miss Jones said, “why you carrying on so? You got company. Why you carrying on so?”

“Don't give it to him,” she repeated herself. “I'll go get the battery.”

I saw Miss Jones open her purse and remove the money.

“Mama, please,” she said. “He just gon' drink it up.”

“Omenita, now that's enough,” Miss Jones said. She removed the money and handed it to her husband. “I mean it.”

Omenita looked at her and frowned. “This don't make no goddamn sense,” she said. “No goddamn sense at all.”

“Well, he has to have his truck,” Miss Jones said. “And if it need a battery, it need a battery. And batteries ain't free.”

“He's lying,” Omenita said, “and you know it.”

“Battery is dead,” he said. He paused and looked at me. “Ain't it, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “It's dead.”

Outside, a horn blew.

“That's Byrd,” he said. “I got to go.”

“Me too,” Miss Jones said. “Before I'm late for my appointment.”

They left and Omenita started crying. “Why you taking up for him?” she snapped at me.

“I'm not,” I said.

“Yes, you are!”

“The battery was dead,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“I tried to help him start the truck,” I said. “It was dead.”

“So,” she said.

I looked at her, confused.

“How do you know he didn't run it down on purpose?” she asked.

“What?” I asked.

“How do you know he ain't just pretending it's dead? How do you know he ain't gon' take that battery to town and charge it up, then take the rest of that money and go across the river and get sloppy drunk? How do you know?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“That's right,” she said. “You don't know.”

“I already said that,” I said.

“Then why are you taking up for him?”

“This is crazy,” I said.

“Who you calling crazy?”

“Nobody,” I said.

“Oh, now I ain't nobody,” she said.

“Omenita, I don't want to fight with you.”

“Could of fooled me,” she said.

“Look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

“Why can't he just do the right thing?” she said, ignoring my attempt to apologize.

“Maybe he is,” I said. “Give him a chance.”

“Why are you taking up for him?”

“I'm not,” I said.

“You are!” she snapped at me.

“Why are you angry at me?” I asked.

“Because you're just like him,” she said.

“I'm nothing like him.”

“Yes, you are,” she said. “Everything has to be your way.”

“How can you say that?”

“It's not gon' be like that with us,” she said. “You hear?”

“Like what?”

“You walking all over me.”

“Walking over you?” I said. “When have I ever tried to walk over you?”

“I can't take this anymore,” she said.

“Can't take what?” I asked her, but she didn't answer. Instead, she turned and looked near the chair where her mother had stood.

“Why did she have to give him that money?” she asked. “Why?”

“He asked for it,” I said. “What was she supposed to do?”

“She could have said no, couldn't she?”

I remained quiet.

“I take it you don't agree.”

She paused and waited. But I still did not speak.

“Maybe you think this is his house,” she said, “and in his house what he say goes. Maybe that's it, hunh?”

“I didn't say that,” I responded. “You did.”

“But you were thinking it,” she said. “Weren't you?”

“I don't want to argue with you,” I said.

“It's not gon' be like that with us,” she said again. “You hear? I'll be your wife, but I won't let you walk over me.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“I know what you're thinking,” she said. “Once we get married things gon' be different. Maybe you gon' lay down the law. Put me in my place. Make me toe the line. Maybe that's what you're thinking.”

“Why are you doing this?” I said again. “Why are you doing this and we're getting married in a few days?”

“I'm tired of this,” she said.

Suddenly, she turned her back and began to cry. I went to her and placed my arms around her and pulled her to me.

“I would never disrespect you,” I said. “You know that.”

“I'm tired,” she said again.

“I love you,” I said. “More than I have ever loved anyone or anything in my entire life. I would never disrespect you,” I said. “Never.”

“I wish I was away from this place,” she said. “Far, far away.”

“Let's talk about something else,” I said. “Something pleasant.”

“I hate him,” she said. “I know I'm not supposed to. And I know it's wrong. But I do. I hate him.”

“No, you don't,” I said.

“I do,” she said.

“Let's just go somewhere,” I said. “I have the truck. We can take a ride.”

“I know what's going to happen,” she said.

“It's no point in thinking about that,” I said. “Come on. Get your coat and let's just go.”

“He gon' go get something to drink,” she said. “Just like he always do.”

“Come on, baby,” I said. “Let's go.”

“And then when he's good and drunk, he's gon' go downtown hooping and hollering and raising hell until the police lock him up. And when they lock him up he gon' call here begging and crying for Mama to come get him out. And she gon' make me go with her. Just like she always do. And when we get there all them white folks gon' be looking at us like we something less than human. And we just have to sit there and take it. I hate him,” she said. “And I hate Mama for letting him do this to us.”

She began to cry again. I tried to console her.

“It's going to be alright,” I said. “Try not to think about all that. Try to think about us. Try to think about the future.”

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

“What?” I said.

“Make love to me,” she whispered again.

“Here?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Here.”

“Now?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Right now.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I'm sure,” she said.

I looked around.